


I Want Everything

by gwynndelous (Eristastic)



Category: Free!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/gwynndelous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the long list of things Nanase Haruka was Absolutely Certain of, the fact that he loved Makoto (in some way, somehow, to some extent) was definitely up there. Always had been, likely always would be, but that was the problem: he couldn’t remember why anymore.</p><p>[Prompt fill for darkotter]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devious-sex-monster (darkotter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkotter/gifts).



> Prompt: Makoharu – Tokyo  
> So I mean, I tried. Writing Makoharu for once was a lot of fun, though!

“You absolutely have to try it, Makoto!”

Kou leant on her elbows on the table, beaming expectantly at Makoto (who, incidentally, looked rather cornered) and Haru decided it would be an excellent time for him to leave. Making sure not to get in her line of sight, he carefully collected Kou’s plate and started to clear up the table.

“I don’t really know,” Makoto said in his classic apologetic-smile voice. “I’m not really any good at games, you know…”

“Then this could be a wonderful opportunity to get better!” Kou’s steely determination showed its teeth before she suppressed it again under a brilliant smile. “It’s not like it’s difficult, really! It’s called Grand Showtime and it’s like a really immersive MMORPG, so you can always just explore even if you find levelling up difficult. I downloaded it a few days ago and it’s so much fun, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Makoto made a forced sound of interest. Haru left them to their one-sided bargaining and walked all of two steps to get to the kitchen to start the washing up, idly listening to what they were saying but mostly ignoring it. Makoto had been tense lately: you could see it at the sides of his mouth, the set of his shoulders, the barely-there tapping of his fingers on the tatami mat. All the things people wouldn’t normally notice; all the things Haru noticed without realising.

That was probably why it had been the easiest thing in the world to switch ‘childhood friend’ to ‘boyfriend’ when they’d moved to Tokyo together. There had been more ‘I love you’s, more contact, more kissing, but nothing else had really changed. It hadn’t needed to, anyway: they were fine as they were. Or had been, Haru reminded himself. Because Makoto was tenser now, and without the safety blanket of his relaxed kindness, Haru started thinking too much.

“Just look,” Kou was saying as she showed her phone screen to Makoto. He took the phone and started to swipe, feigning enthusiasm expertly as Kou directed him, shuffling over to his side of the table to get a better angle.

Haru’s hands slowed as he watched them from over the chest-height wall that separated the kitchen and the living area, almost counting down the seconds on his fingers under soapy water. 1…2…3…4…and _there_ was the smile he’d known was coming: the perfect mask of enjoyment when he knew Makoto didn’t mean any of it. It had been popping up every day recently, a shield against this cloud of stress Haru knew Makoto was drenched in and knew just as well Makoto would never tell him about. So that was problem number one.

Haru liked to keep things tidy. Not really out of principle but more because it calmed him down. So he stacked the dishes on the drying rack carefully, wiped down the sink to catch any escaped bubbles, and he counted out the things he’d been thinking too much about. Problem number two was easy: Makoto acted like an angel towards everyone. That was an admirable quality, Haru knew and didn’t envy him, but he was starting to feel like ‘everyone’ now, like Makoto had been edging away inch by inch and when Haru finally noticed it, there was too much distance between them to be comfortable with.

Which brought him conveniently to problem number three: he had been getting the distinct impression that Makoto wasn’t talking to him about important things anymore. He was a bit ambivalent on that point: it wasn’t exactly that he _wanted_ to have heart-to-hearts all the time, but he couldn’t deny that he was getting a little sick of being watched for ages when they were together (as if the words were just ready to jump off Makoto’s tongue) only to be told it was nothing.

He drained the sink and dried his hands, wringing out a cloth to wipe down the kitchen counters, and started to listen closer to what Kou was saying so he could avoid thinking about problem number four.

“So I started with a royalty class, you see, and my character’s an empress. The base class you choose channels you into certain fields you can branch out into later, and decides what sort of interactions you can have with other players,” Kou explained, and – to his credit – Makoto did seem to be paying attention. He looked ready to take notes.

“But doesn’t being an empress limit the people you can interact with?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah, but I kind of wanted that: royalty class isn’t something a lot of people choose because it changes the whole game, makes it less of a multi-player thing, you know? Instead, I get to concentrate on quests and more fantastical stuff – sort of like the mages do, but with more ‘nobility’, I guess – and other players are more into the city life, mafia, trading, whatever. Speaking of that, I got Rin to sign up too, and he’s already making a name for himself as a knight, which means he follows the same sort of gameplay the royalty classes do. But I mean, you can choose a totally different stream if you like. Medieval-type questing doesn’t have to be your thing. It’s full of anachronisms anyway, so you’re not even stuck in one time period.”

Makoto made yet another hum of interest, but it didn’t sound as forced this time.

“So come on, let me make an account for you! You don’t even have to use it,” Kou assured, her tone implying that there would be trouble if he didn’t. After a second of wavering, Makoto let himself be talked into it and they settled down to customise his character.

Haru put the kettle on for tea and leant against the kitchen counter, his back to the other two. Problem number four wasn’t one he liked to think about too much, but it had a habit of striding into his mind obnoxiously, sitting down and shouting ‘pay attention to me’. In the long list of things Nanase Haruka was Absolutely Certain of, the fact that he loved Makoto (in some way, somehow, to some extent) was definitely up there. Always had been, likely always would be, but that was the problem: he couldn’t remember why anymore.

Putting things into words wasn’t always necessary for him to understand them, he knew that, but when it came down to it, what he felt was so wispy and smoke-like that he couldn’t catch it and reassure himself it was there. He didn’t have any handholds or markers of ‘this is why I love him’: it was just a bare stretch of terrain he had to trust. And he didn’t think he could do that for much longer.

Loving someone because it had always been that way was all well and good but, rooted into habits though he was, it felt…wrong. Not too wrong as to be impossible to stand, but…

The kettle started whistling and he lifted it off its stand to prepare the tea. Kou and Makoto looked like they’d finally worked out what class Makoto was going to go for so Haru switched his attention to them. Kou appeared to be exasperated.

“Why did you choose to be a healer?” she asked, smiling in thanks when Haru offered her a cup. “I told you, this isn’t even a typical middle ages setting: you’re not going to get to level up very far with that.”

“They wouldn’t have included it if you can’t use it,” Makoto reasoned.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair, but _really_ …You should have chosen a scholar: they get loads of opportunities in the city. The local rankings are full of them. Heck, Rei’s one of them and he’s doing a fine job of controlling everything as one of the more important librarians.”

“I’d prefer healing,” Makoto laughed lightly.

“You could always start out on the black market, I guess…” Kou shrugged, moving her finger round in circles on the table-top thoughtfully.

Haru decided it was time to join the conversation. “You’re not trying to corrupt him again, are you?”

Kou grinned. “Maybe just a bit.”

Too engrossed in character customisation to act scandalised, Makoto leant the screen over to Kou again. “What do these stats mean?”

Clapping her hands together with a delighted expression, Kou launched into a lengthy – but no doubt helpful – run-down of how stats worked, and Haru tuned out. Makoto was smiling again, the sides of his eyes crinkling up warmly, soft brown hair falling into his eyes, and Haru watched him while slowly sipping his tea.

It had never been a question of being determined or not with Haru: he did the things he did, and he scoped his ambitions to his abilities so he wouldn’t be easily disappointed. A simple, stress-free route. He was quite proud of it, but now he was faced with something (four somethings) he didn’t know how to fix and he needed to choose what to do.

A spark of the usual Makoto was back into the man’s laugh when Kou grabbed the phone from him and started changing something Haru couldn’t see.

He wasn’t going to give up. This wasn’t something he could give up on (and he didn’t want to, either), so he made his decision. There could be four, five, ten, a hundred problems, and he wouldn’t give up: he’d just have to work harder to ride this out, and maybe Makoto might even meet him halfway. With that decided – a job well done and neatly tidied out of the way – Haru leant an elbow on the table and watched Kou and Makoto bickering over how useful stamina and dexterity were to a healer.

 

-

 

“Haru, do you think I should team up with this trader to keep a good public image or not? I don’t really want to get too close to anyone before I’m properly settled down and people trust me…” Makoto chewed his bottom lip, reclining on his side on the living area floor.

Haru had no idea why he was being asked (because his knowledge of this game was essentially non-existent), but he gave the question some thought all the same. “If your main plan is to get everyone to trust you before pulling your trump card, I think you shouldn’t. You want to keep distant so no one finds out, don’t you?”

“Mm…yeah, you’re right.” Makoto nodded happily and turned back to the game. It hadn’t really surprised Haru when, after a few days of transparent denial, Makoto had admitted he was utterly hooked on Grand Showtime and had already decided he was going to work his way into the community and gain experience before using his influence and medical skills to start a drug-dependent cult. Slip under their skin and hit them where it hurt. Kou would be proud if Makoto hadn’t insisted they keep it a secret from her too.

And Haru wasn’t surprised at the plan, not really. Makoto was just like that sometimes. The most surprising thing was that since he’d started the game, Makoto was talking more often – _actually_ talking, not just superficial small talk. Haru had been under the impression that video games typically alienated their users, but clearly he’d been mistaken. Modern technology truly was amazing.

“When do your exams start?” he asked, after he’d finished marking his own on the calendar. The red pen he liked to use for writing troublesome events hovered in the air, waiting for Makoto to pause the game.

“Um…the 26th, I think.”

“That’s a Sunday.”

“Oh, yikes. 27th, then.”

Haru nodded and marked it down. “That’s not far away,” he said, innocuously, as if he wasn’t doing his level best to give Makoto an opportunity to finally spit out what had been bothering him.

(Was bothering him still, if Haru was any judge.)

(Which he was, to be clear.)

“No, I guess not. Are yours later?” Frustrating as ever, Makoto didn’t take the bait and Haru was left feeling like he’d swum a lap several seconds slower than usual.

“No.”

“Oh, okay.”

Haru was going to look on the bright side. It wasn’t like Makoto was going to stop shouldering all his stress alone overnight, and even if it was all because of a game, he was acting more like himself now. Even if he was paying an annoying amount of attention to the game, when he played it he looked less like a mannequin locked behind a shop window and more like a person. That was good. It was a step forwards, anyway. Haru hung the calendar back up and sat down behind Makoto, leaning against his back so he could read his textbook. Or try to read his textbook while Rin blew up his phone, either worked.

It felt like the evenings had felt before (back when Haru hadn’t been thinking so much) and he liked it. He liked the warmth of Makoto against his back, the small shifts of his weight when the position got uncomfortable, the softness of their breathing against the muffled sounds of traffic outside, the electronic humming from the kitchen and everything in between. It felt like home.

“Haru, look at this!” In an incredible demonstration of flexibility, Makoto managed to reach over to show Haru his phone. “I’m already on level 20!”

“What’s the average level?”

“I guess most people are around 20 to 30 or so. The levels in this game are really difficult to get to…”

“Then that’s great,” Haru turned to smile down at Makoto. “Seeing as you only just started.”

Makoto brightened and switched his phone off, putting it on the table. He sat up and returned Haru’s smile with warmth that seemed to melt whatever tension might have been between them, even for only a few minutes. That was enough for now, and with the distant, familiar sounds of other residents moving around the apartment complex in the background, Haru leant into Makoto’s hand when he cupped his jaw.

This was something they both knew: they didn’t even have to think about it. Hands against skin (gently, never rushed), chest against chest until they could feel each other’s heartbeat, lips on lips until Haru opened his mouth to let Makoto inside, and then he felt like he was melting. His skin was sensitive to every touch and all the body heat Makoto could give him, so sensitive he didn’t think he’d be able to forget the traces of fingers running down his back, over his hips, but that was fine. It was better if he didn’t forget. It was better if he remembered it every time he questioned why he loved this man; he wanted to remember.

And even if there was still nothing concrete he could hold onto like a trophy, nothing to wave in his hands every time invasive thoughts chewed their way into his mind, he’d find it eventually. It was that simple. This was a slump, that was all. Not a usual one: he’d had normal slumps before and he knew them too well to ever forget the feeling of wanting to fall to the bottom of the sea and never see light again, but it was a slump just the same. It still counted, in the same way a building can be razed to the ground just as well by taking away its foundations as by an earthquake.

But buildings could be rebuilt: Haru might not be able to do it alone, but he swelled with such confidence when he was held like this, when he felt Makoto’s love up close like sunlight and summer breezes, so he was sure. It might just take longer than he would have liked.

They mutually agreed not to go further than the soft massaging of Makoto’s fingers on the small of Haru’s back, and eventually Haru pulled away. Makoto’s eyes were dazed and starry, looking at Haru like a mere mortal staring up at a god, and it was a tragedy to watch that raw adoration have shutters pulled over it as the real world slipped between them again. Haru smiled.

“Are you going to keep playing?” he asked, getting up to put the laundry on, giving Makoto an excuse if he needed it.

“Yeah…I think so. I’m close to learning a new skill, so…”

“Good luck with the cult,” Haru said fondly, and he walked out of the room, feeling just a little light-headed. Just a little too fragile. But that was fine, for now.

 

-

 

If Haru had been hoping Grand Showtime would help Makoto relax and go back to normal (he had), he had been very wrong. Disarmingly so, in fact. Perhaps even insultingly so, considering how well it had been going at the start. And so Haru slowly – day by day, evening by evening – realised that Makoto was becoming unfortunately attached to his phone. He was still talking – still asking Haru’s opinion as he built his doctor up to be the pinnacle of goodness in the city, friend to everyone no matter what their walk of life, before (one fateful day) reaching his long-term plan of manipulating everyone into his cult. But Makoto talking to Haru and Makoto needing him there were two different things, and Haru felt like sand was running through his fingers as their exams crept up on them, as responsibilities crept up on them, and as Makoto turned away from him.

It felt like all he heard nowadays (other than the inevitable small talk that they really shouldn’t have had to bother with) was talk of how the doctor was doing. It was a barrage of updates on stats and achievements and rankings – which Makoto now seemed to be at the top of, mystifyingly – all wrapped up in plans for how he was going to spread his magically-enhanced drugs further around the city to develop his cult into other territories.

Haru might have been getting a little invested as well, but that was beside the point: the _point_ was that Makoto was barely paying him any attention anymore unless to ask his advice, and while that was annoying enough on its own, Haru could see exactly why. He could see Makoto shut down whenever Haru gave him opportunities to discuss what was bothering him, he could see the stress still wearing away at the sides of Makoto’s mouth, he could see how easily Makoto fell into the game’s temptation, letting him forget about the real world.

It dawned on Haru that something might be seriously wrong. He wasn’t any good at this: he could wait and provide silence for someone else to speak into, but he couldn’t reach out like he wanted to. There was no way he could help Makoto here. So he called Kou over to visit.

She leapt through the door the second he opened it, barely stopping to kick her shoes off in the genkan before striding in to find Makoto.

“You’re at the top of the local rankings!” she shouted accusingly with a just a dash of disbelief, a twinge of awe, all shaken up and served many decibels too loud. “You’re third in the _national_ rankings!”

Makoto looked up from his phone sheepishly. “Am I? Gosh.”

Kou stared at him and pinched the crease between her eyebrows. “Tell me you knew that already.”

“Okay, I kind of knew that already.”

Haru swept past them into the kitchen. “He’s been updating me every day. He knows.”

“Haru! It hasn’t been _every_ day…”

Laughing, Kou dropped her bag and sat down, brushing out her skirt and leaning her elbows on the table. “So how’d you do it? Because I’m still barely scraping level thirty-seven and I thought I was good.”

“I can’t really say,” Makoto smiled, switching his phone off with just the smallest twitch of regret.

“Hiding your cards, huh? I guess that’s smart, but geez…you’re cold, Makoto. I even introduced you to the game, and we’ve been friends for so long: it’s not like I’m going to spill all your secrets!” Kou was using the guilt method Nagisa had perfected years before – eyes shining with what might have been tears, reproachful pout, general air of despondency – but it didn’t seem to be working.

“I’m sorry…” Makoto seemed to mean it genuinely. “But I’ve been tracking your conquests too! You’re doing so well for an empress: I understand why nobody picks royalty classes now!”

The two of them started chatting happily about the finer points of strategy and level climbing in the game and Haru felt entirely out of his depth. He reflected that maybe inviting Kou round had been a bad idea: he should have seen this coming. And seeing Makoto so normal with someone else, excited about something that had been eating into his time so severely for so long, was irritating. Haru felt discomfort squirm in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t do anything to reach across the distance like this.

Makoto had to leave early to join up with a study group he’d been roped into, and Kou and Haru were left alone in the apartment.

“Can you help me make an account?” Haru asked when he’d finally managed to push the words out.

Looking up from her phone (and Haru clearly had an apology to give to all the old people complaining about video games derailing the youth, because he had been _wrong_ in assuming Grand Showtime wasn’t alienating), Kou smirked.

“Ready to give in?”

“It’s not that,” he sat down opposite her, pointedly not making eye contact. “He really likes this game. I want to understand it, because it’s something he likes.”

There wasn’t any response, so he braved a look at what he thought was going to be a triumphant grin and turned out to be something more along the lines of an expression of total wonder.

Haru waited until the sparkles he could practically see around her faded away.

“That’s so sweet, Haru!” Kou said happily when she’d recovered. “Of course I’ll help you! Have you downloaded it yet?”

Haru shook his head and they got started, hunched over the small table in the middle of the living area, discussing what his character should be like. Kou had plenty of ideas of her own (and Haru didn’t doubt she was trying to create a character vicariously through him, and he wasn’t having it) but Haru was already certain of what he wanted. He needed someone who could get close to Makoto’s character. He needed to be on the same level, if he was ever going to be able to reach him.

 

-

 

Makoto frowned at the screen, rolling over onto his side (away from his long-since abandoned textbooks and notes) and Haru spared him a glance. He knew exactly what Makoto was frowning at (since he was the one who’d spent just over a week getting the gears moving to make it to this point) but he thought it would be polite to tilt his head and blink questioningly.

“There’s this new player,” Makoto said, clearly clarifying the whole situation.

“Is there.” Haru turned back to his notes, but with the attitude of someone who wouldn’t object to continued conversation.

“A rogue called Joker. They don’t seem to be affected by the drug. At all.”

“That’s weird.”

“Isn’t it? I just can’t figure it out: no one should have been able to get so far into my territory without joining up…”

Haru hummed to show he was paying attention, looking over at Makoto’s really absurdly cute confusion. He was biting his lip and frowning, looking altogether very vulnerable and worried that someone had got past his master plan to trick players in a video game. It was endearing. It was all the more endearing because it wasn’t Makoto fixating on something Haru could never hope to reach. This was better, he thought, and he shifted his legs into a more comfortable position.

Makoto was theorising out loud again. He did it a lot, more because it then followed naturally for him to ask Haru’s opinion than because he liked having the sound. To be honest, Haru could have done without the constant concerned babbling – about plots and plans and oh my god, Makoto, you’re cute, but would you please _shut up_ for a second – but he did like Makoto’s voice. It felt like home, so he couldn’t very well deny it. And this time he was paying closer attention, anyway: if Joker had any hope of getting past Doctor’s defences and being anything of a match for him, Haru was going to have to pay very close attention to things he usually could not have cared less about.

So he listened and nodded, offering advice when asked for it, and when they got tired, Makoto thanked him and kissed him like before. There were more and more ‘like before’ moments lately, and Haru tried not to count them up. It was too much like watching a buffering video: the second you think it’s working, it stops again, so he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

He did, but he really shouldn’t have.

 

-

 

Their exams were fast approaching and Haru began to see a cripplingly major flaw in his brilliant – not that he’d ever called it that – plan. Makoto wasn’t studying. That was decidedly _not_ ‘like before’ or like Makoto at all, and after the usual pointed staring and silent judgement failed to get Makoto off his phone, Haru realised his usual efforts simply weren’t up to the job.

“Makoto,” he said, poking the said Makoto with his toe. Makoto grunted and rolled over onto his back to smile like a very tired angel.

“Yes, Haru?”

“Exams start next week.”

“Do they? Oh, yikes.”

Haru managed to cast aside his internal debate over whether it was normal for a grown man to have rallied against the cruelty of the world enough to keep using ‘yikes’ and similar phrases, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ready?”

Makoto cringed. “Probably…”

Haru raised his eyebrow higher, giving himself something of a headache. This wasn’t normal at all. He’d never once had to worry that Makoto wouldn’t study because both of them just got on with it at crunch time and did the best they could, and then went back to just being averagely studious students. This was getting worrisome.

“Is something wrong?” It was weird how easy it was to ask – the culmination of weeks of overthinking – and how easily Makoto brushed the words away like water off his skin, shaking his head and smiling sunnily.

“Nothing’s wrong! I just really like this game, is all.” He said it apologetically.

“Is that so.”

Makoto looked at him quizzically and Haru could practically hear what should have followed: the gentle concern, the easy explanations, the cogs creaking into place until they ran smoothly, but Makoto didn’t say anything. If Makoto didn’t say anything, none of it could start: Haru couldn’t do this on his own.

That was a problem.

 

-

 

The problem did not dissipate, but in Haru’s defence he hadn’t really expected it to. He might not have been the best judge of human character, but he thought he fully understood the situation now. This was long past procrastination: this was a case of straight-up escapism. He could relate, but it wasn’t healthy. Probably. Either way, he didn’t think it was good.

No: he _knew_ it wasn’t good. Watching Makoto spend hours scheming it out on Grand Showtime (narrating everything helpfully to Haru so Haru could then advance Joker even further without much effort, thank you very much), Haru knew this wasn’t good. But, oddly, he was enjoying himself.

It crept up on his life innocently, taking hold like a fungus until he was playing the game in every spare minute. It was _fun_ , and he was enjoying it more than he had thought he would. More than he’d planned he would. Basically, his plan had ruptured quite dramatically in every conceivable way, but at this point he didn’t care so much because playing Joker was too much fun.

To be more accurate: playing Joker against Makoto was too much fun. Sometimes their schedules synced up in such a way that they’d both be at university, playing and interacting with each other and it was _fun_. Everything was so Makoto: all the dialogue, all the friendliness, all the hesitation before acting even though the two of them knew he knew exactly what he was doing. They’d meet up in-game and, because Joker was ‘conveniently’ immune to Doctor’s strategy, they started to swap items and help each other out. The two of them even went on missions together, once or twice. It was a bit like going on dates that happened to end in a lot of joyful theft and NPC deaths.

But all good things had to come to an end (so Haru had heard: he was still dubious about that saying) and they did, in much the same way as a firework fizzles out if you throw water on it. One night, Haru came back to the apartment to find Makoto once again shamefully neglecting his studies and almost glaring at the screen of his phone. Haru had to do a double take because – as a rule – Makoto didn’t glare unless things were Very Bad (or, if Nagisa was involved, unless some _one_ had been Very Bad).

“Are you alright?” he asked, dropping his bag in the corner of the room while he went to wash his hands.

“I can’t work it out,” Makoto grumbled.

“Oh?”

“This player! I can’t work out how they’re avoiding everything I throw at them! Gosh, it’s really annoying me!”

Haru blinked. He looked at the heavy bags under Makoto’s eyes (and you’d have thought Haru would have noticed before, but no, apparently not), the way his face looked the slightest bit more drawn and pale than usual, the healing skin on his bottom lip and how he was even now grinding his teeth down on it, and Haru blinked again.

“Is that all?” he asked, with perhaps not the most sensitive phrasing he might have used.

Makoto spluttered a bit, looking thoroughly put out. Almost verging on angry. “I know you don’t care, but it’s a big deal for me, Haru!”

Alarmed, Haru shook his head. This was the perfect time for Makoto to spill everything he’d been carrying, and Haru had to try to help him. “No, that’s…that’s not what I meant. I mean, is that really all that’s bothering you? Isn’t there more?”

“I’m sorry, but this is important to me! This plan should have worked out perfectly and now it’s _not_ , so can’t I be annoyed about that?” Makoto huffed, clearly still taking it the wrong way.

Haru struggled to get his point across. “No, you can, but-”

“Haru, just don’t, please.” Makoto’s hands were in fists on the floor, his unsteady glare angled down purposefully so Haru wouldn’t be burned by it. “You don’t have to care, but don’t say anything, okay? It’s just that everything’s been getting a little much recently-”

 _So talk to me about it_ , Haru should have said, but his mouth stayed disobediently shut, his body frozen in place.

“-and this is the last straw. I know it’s stupid, I know that, so you don’t have to tell me how little this means to you.” There was no spite in Makoto’s voice, but there was hurt and that was worse.

Haru had a history of bad communication, so he decided to keep it simple. “Joker’s my character.”

Makoto looked up, everything wiped from his expression to leave only blank surprise. “…what?”

Haru felt he could move again now without breaking the tension, so he did, leaning against a kitchen surface to face Makoto. “They’re my character in the game. Kou helped me make them so I could play.”

“Joker’s yours?”

“Mm.”

“B-but I thought you weren’t interested!”

Haru shrugged. “I wasn’t, but it’s surprisingly fun. And it’s important to you.”

He didn’t need to say anything more than that: that was all Makoto needed to string everything together so he could understand the situation. They’d been together long enough for that to work, and Haru waited patiently as Makoto’s expression changed to a really charming shade of wonder (suspiciously like Kou’s, but that was irrelevant).

“You joined for me?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. But insecurities were insecurities – Haru could appreciate that.

“I did.”

“And you knew how to avoid my powers because…”

“You talk about them enough.”

“You’ve been paying _attention_?” The amount of blissful gratitude on Makoto’s face probably wasn’t good for Haru’s ego (and definitely didn’t spell any good news for Makoto’s, while they were at it).

“Of course.”

And then Makoto was calling his name happily and practically jumping across the room to hug him across the counter, burying his face in Haru’s neck. It was so warm: his breath was so _warm_ as he laughed happily into Haru’s skin, and Haru managed to get round to the other side of the counter so Makoto could hug him properly. It was like there was no distance at all between them.

He wrapped his arms around Makoto’s waist and thought that this was enough: this was something he could hold onto. This laugh in his ear – breathy and light and full of relief that Haru drank down – and this feeling of body heat on his. This was home.

 

-

 

“You were worrying that much?” Makoto looked characteristically scandalised at the mere thought that Haru could have been fretting about him.  That was silly, so Haru shuffled back further into Makoto’s lap and leant his head backwards to at least try and frown at him.

“ _Yes_.”

“But it’s just exam stress!” Makoto laughed helplessly. “Everyone’s asking me to help them or join study groups, and it was getting too much, that’s all.”

Haru muttered something to the effect of ‘how was I supposed to know that’ and Makoto smiled fondly at him.

“I promise I’ll talk to you about it next time,” he said, nuzzling into the back of Haru’s neck.

“You’d better.”

“But you know…” Makoto’s voice was lower, his breath tickling the lobe of Haru’s ear, “I’m really happy. I’m so happy you worried about me like that: is that bad of me?”

Haru was convinced Makoto was being dense on purpose at this point so he just sighed softly and shook his head.

“So it’s okay to feel happy, even though you were upset?” Makoto’s voice was at once syrupy and filled with innocent joy. “Then I’m _so happy_.”

Haru was just wondering whether he’d have to clarify the situation again (and cursing the prospect) when he felt Makoto’s breath turn to kisses down the back of his neck, hands brushing over the insides of his thighs. Everything felt unbearably and intoxicatingly hot, and he settled back more comfortably into Makoto’s lap, enjoying the fluttery little gasp that ghosted over the skin of his spine, the momentary hesitation of Makoto’s fingers at his waistband.

Well, this was a way of relieving stress as well, he supposed.


End file.
